Chapter 2 - Room Three
The birthday party ended twenty-two minutes later.
Not because Margaret ordered it.
Because seven-year-olds notice when every adult in a room starts talking in voices meant to sound normal.
I sent Lily upstairs with my sister-in-law Kelly and Ethan. Lily took the rabbit.
Margaret watched it leave.
That bothered me more than anything she said.
I went to the kitchen sink and washed frosting from my hands.
Margaret stood behind me.
“You shouldn't open that room tonight.”
I kept scrubbing.
“Who was the man?”
“I told you—”
“No. You called him a stranger. Lily said he knew something about Nathan that almost nobody knew.”
“I knew it.”
“Yes. You were standing in our kitchen when Nathan fixed the rabbit.”
Margaret's reflection watched me in the window.
“Then maybe I told him.”
“Who?”
Silence.
I dried my hands.
“Was Nathan having an affair?”
Margaret's face changed.
Small movement.
Still enough.
I laughed once.
“Wow.”
“I did not say that.”
“You've spent five years telling me Nathan was unhappy before he died.”
“He was.”
“You told me he had started keeping things from me.”
“He had.”
“You neglected to mention he had an actual room.”
Margaret looked toward the carriage house.
“He slept there sometimes.”
My chest tightened.
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
“You always know.”
“Not everything.”
That might have been the first honest sentence between us.
I walked toward the back door.
Margaret stepped in front of it.
“Rachel.”
I looked at her.
“Move.”
“Lily's birthday has already been ruined.”
“By you.”
“You're angry.”
“Yes.”
“Then don't make a decision angry.”
“I’m opening a door.”
“You think that's all?”
I stared.
Then pushed past without touching her.
Cold air hit my face.
The carriage house stood thirty yards behind the main home, brick on the first floor, painted wood above it.
I had been inside hundreds of times.
Garage below.
A narrow staircase along one wall.
Upstairs hallway.
Three rooms.
The first was an exercise room.
The second had become storage.
The third door had been locked for as long as I remembered.
Margaret always said there had been water damage.
I climbed the stairs.
She followed.
“Rachel.”
I reached Room Three.
Old wooden door.
Brass lock.
The key in my hand looked suddenly less mysterious.
It looked made for it.
I crouched.
Scratches surrounded the keyhole.
Fresh scratches.
Bright against old tarnished metal.
I turned toward Margaret.
“You've been trying to get in.”
“No.”
I pointed.
“That happened recently.”
Her mouth tightened.
“I tried another key.”
“Why?”
No answer.
I stood.
“So you knew this key existed.”
“Yes.”
“Inside Lily’s rabbit?”
“I suspected.”
“How?”
“Nathan hid things in stupid places.”
I almost smiled because that sounded like him.
Then I remembered she had smashed a cake around my daughter to get it.
“When did you lose your key?”
“I didn't.”
I stared.
“What?”
Margaret looked toward the stairs.
“I never had one.”
“Then how did you know the room?”
“Because Nathan let me in.”
“When?”
Her expression closed.
“Years ago.”
“Before he died?”
“Yes.”
“How long before?”
She didn't answer.
I put the key into the lock.
It slid in perfectly.
Margaret grabbed my wrist.
Not hard.
Desperate.
“Please.”
I looked down at her hand.
She released me.
“What do you think is in there?”
I asked.
“Nothing that will help.”
“You don't know what helps me.”
“I know what grief does.”
“No. You know what yours did.”
That hit.
She backed away.
I turned the key halfway.
Then stopped.
Footsteps came up behind us.
Lily.
Kelly followed, irritated.
“Sorry. She slipped past me.”
Lily held the rabbit against her pajamas now.
No frosting.
Someone had cleaned it.
The torn seam hung open.
I crouched.
“You should be with Ethan.”
“I want Bunny.”
“You have Bunny.”
She looked at the door.
“The man said Dad made things in there.”
Margaret went completely still.
I looked at her.
“What things?”
Lily shrugged.
“Things for us.”
Us.
Not him.
Not another woman.
Us.
Margaret said too quickly:
“He was seven. He doesn't know what he heard.”
I turned.
“Lily is seven.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
I stood.
“Go back inside with Aunt Kelly.”
“Are you mad at Grandma?”
“Yes.”
Lily thought.
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
No speech.
No burden.
She handed me the rabbit.
“Can you fix her?”
“Yes.”
Then she went back down.
I waited until the outside door closed.
Margaret looked at the rabbit.
Then at the key.
I finished turning it.
The lock clicked.
Margaret whispered:
“If you open that door, don't turn Nathan into somebody he wasn't.”
I put my hand on the knob.
May you like
“Then you should probably stop telling me who he was.”
And opened Room Three.
